


The Wrongest Yard

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Football, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2019-10-21 21:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17650613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: This is an all-human AU where Angel is the head coach of the UC Sunnydale football team! Spike is his star running back, but he has his eyes on a new recruit named Lindsey.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all - I started this in December for the Secret Santa gift exchange, although I don't think it's quite what my santa-partner really wanted and I've been working on it since then to the detriment of all other, less wrong projects.
> 
> What can I say? I love football. 
> 
> Oh, and it's full of wrong, wrong wrong wrongness. How wrong? Remember "Deviants"? It's like that.

Lindsey dropped his shoulder into an oncoming defender and slipped past him so fast the burn of contact didn’t hit him until he was in the end zone. He turned and tossed the football back with a triumphant grin.

The linebacker scowled, hands on his hips. “It’s just practice, Lindsey.”

“Like you could get me in the game,” Lindsey countered and swaggered back to the huddle.

Alone in the wooden high school bleachers, Angel licked his lips. The kid had everything U.C. Sunnydale needed – power, aggression, and attitude. He looked pretty good bent over in the huddle, too, which was what Angel needed, personally. He got out his cell phone and sent a text to Wesley, the athletic program director, asking for another early-entrance scholarship.

The team finished running through their plays and Angel walked up to the sideline. Lindsey ran toward him. Well, to be fair, he was running to the water cooler, but Angel could dream. The young running back had his helmet in his hand, his short hair glistening with sweat, locks hanging down next to his sparkling blue eyes.

Oh yes, he was everything U.C. Sunnydale needed. Angel stepped up to the boy. “That was some great running out there,” he said.

Lindsey looked up from drinking and squinted at the man in the suit. “If you’re a scout, I should tell you I’m only a sophomore.”

“I am a scout, and I know.” Angel smiled and baited his hook, “How would you like to play college ball _before_ you graduate high school?”

***

Lindsey dropped his gym bag and tried not to gape. The U. C. Sunnydale football stadium stretched out all around him, big as dreams. The men practicing were all much larger than the high school kids Lindsey had been dominating on the field.

Everything looked so NEW. The grass. The white lines on the field. The gym bags laying haphazardly along the sideline were even all bright and colorful, straight from a photo spread in a catalog. Lindsey looked down at the frayed fabric of his old army kit bag, handed down from his dad. How long before someone realized he didn’t belong here?

A shadow fell over him and a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Lindsey jumped.

“So glad you could make it,” Coach Angel said. “I know you’re wondering why you’d come to my program when you have the potential to play in the Big Ten, but just think about the leg-up you’ll have with recruiters, having two extra years of college-level ball under your belt when you graduate? You’ll have your pick of schools.” He turned Lindsey toward him with a tug and gave him a warm smile. “Though of course I hope by then, we’ll have won you over and you’ll become a permanent part of the U. C. Sunnydale family.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s something I was wondering about,” Lindsey said. Lindesy had been hoping to win a college scholarship with his athletic ability – he hadn’t dreamed as far as going to a big school. He coughed and tried to play it cool. “I can give it a year, see what it’s like.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Angel said. There was something a little too pleased about his smile, which made Lindsey worry for a moment, but then Angel was shouting across the field. “GUNN! Hustle over here!”

One of the players broke off the game to jog over. His bald head glistened with sweat when he took his helmet off. “Problem, Coach?”

“Gunn, I’d like you to meet Lindsey, a new recruit in our youth program. Running back. Lindsey, meet Charles Gunn, middle linebacker and team captain.”

Gunn shook Lindsey’s hand strongly. “You sure he’s a running back, Coach? Looks like a linebacker to me.” Lindsey felt an instinctive liking to this friendly face.

Coach Angel said, “Gunn, I’d like you to take Lindsey around the practice, introduce him. I want to start full team practice in ten minutes, and Lindsey had better be with the running backs.”

Angel gave squeezed each of them on the shoulder – though Gunn likely didn’t feel it through his pads – and stalked off, whistle in hand, to yell at some other players.

Gunn shook his head. “Coaches always want all the best players on offense. Defense is where it’s AT.”

“I played linebacker,” Lindsey offered. “My school is too small to have a separate offense and defense squad.

“Yeah?” Gunn put his arm around Lindsey’s shoulders. “I think you and I are going to get along great. You’ve met our genius coach. Time to meet the idiots who follow orders.”

Lindsey didn’t mind, but for propriety’s sake shrugged his way out from under Gunn’s arm. “Quit hugging me, fag.”

Gunn laughed. “Come on,” he said, and led the way onto the field.

Lindsey had to jog a few steps to catch up to his lengthy stride. “You called Angel a genius – is he really as good as they say?”

“The man knows how to win ball games.” Gunn shrugged. “I’ve never seen him call a bad play. Of course, I deal more with our defensive coordinate, Mr. Trick.” Gunn waved toward a black man with a clipboard on the sideline. “If you’re going to be a running back, probably best you meet the line first.”

Large men stood in a line, moving together, stepping right, re-setting, stepping left. “That’s Clem, the line captain and our center. Uh… don’t get him talking about snack foods. It’s an epic love story. On his right is Larry, all American right guard. On the left is…”

Someone barreled into Lindsey from behind, sending him sprawling.

He rolled over to see the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen just inches above his own. A hard body pinned his to the ground and he felt lust wash through his system.

Those gorgeous eyes scowled and that hard body pushed off of him. “What the hell are you doing standing in the middle of the field?” An unexpected British accent. And then the slender man turned and ran back the way he had come, a football cradled to his side.

Lindsey blinked, still unsure what had happened. Gunn held out a hand. “And that was your competition – Spike, our starting running back.”

“He’s a dick,” Lindsey said.

“He grows on you.”

Angel blew his whistle, long and loud. “Team!” he shouted, signaling the end of individual position practices. All around the field, groups stopped what they were doing and ran to the sideline for water before the team practice began. Gunn left Lindsey by the water cooler to watch and ran out to join the defensive huddle.

The team executed a few plays and Lindsey watched with a growing sense of dread. Spike darted around and between the larger linemen, agile and quick. Lindsey remembered the press of that spandex-clad body over his and almost shuddered. This wasn’t good. He needed to compete with this asshole, not lust after him.

Lindsey wasn’t gay. He was sure of that. He’d… he’d had a crush, once, on the high school quarterback, Dean. That guy was just so hot, though. You couldn’t blame anyone for drooling over him, male or female. Lindsey hadn’t felt this… appreciation of another man since.

He bit his lip, and pushed his thoughts down into hate. He was going to crush this guy.  
It would really help it he wasn’t so damn HOT, though.

***

Angel’s office had a glass wall with a commanding view of the football stadium. The wall behind his desk was lined with trophies, plaques and signed helmets from former students who had gone on to the NFL.

If it was meant to be intimidating, it was. Lindsey felt small and unnecessary sitting in a deep black chair in front of the big desk. Angel sat behind it, looking over some papers. “That’s all settled, then. Your parents signed the waiver and you’re enrolled in the program.”

“I’m honored to have this opportunity,” Lindsey said. He shifted forward in the seat that kept trying to make him lay back.

Coach Angel flipped the file folder closed and stood up. He came around the desk and settled on the arm of Lindsey’s chair. “I’ve made legends out of boys like you, Lindsey.”

Lindsey felt uncomfortable with the big man so close. His thigh was muscular, straining the fabric of his slacks. Coach Angel had been an all-pro quarterback before deciding he’d rather coach others. Angel leaned toward him and set a hand on his shoulder. “Do you have the commitment, son? Are you ready to give this your all?”

“Of course.” Lindsey straightened. “I won’t let you down.”

Angel’s hand slid closer to his neck and his thumb brushed, lingering up against his skin. Lindsey felt hot and close and there was something sinister in Angel’s smile. “You’d better not,” he said.

And then he stood up. “You start regular practices next week. Gunn can give you the schedule. Welcome aboard.”

Lindsey released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Thank you, sir.” He must have been imagining that, though he felt the ghost of the touch on his neck. He rubbed over the spot. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”

“See you tomorrow,” Angel said, already apparently absorbed in something else on his desk.

***

Angel barely kept his head turned to his work until Lindsey was on his way out the door. He allowed himself a quick glance at the departing backside. Christ, how he loved this part – the early days, the cat and mouse. He was harder than steel.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait in celibacy while he drew out the anticipation. Angel threw on a windbreaker to hide his boner and practically ran down to the locker room.

The smell of young, male sweat and steam played over his senses, making him harder still. He smiled and exchanged pleasantries with the boys who were finishing getting dressed after their showers. His eyes roved, careful not to linger too long in any one place. There was plenty of male beauty to see anyway.

Spike was still showering. Good. The hotshot often got talking with the other players and ended up late to the locker room. Angel stood outside the shower area until the last of the other boys left. He dropped his jacket on a hook and stepped into the steam.

Spike had his head back, water carrying soap suds down his back and around the delicious globes of his ass. Angel unzipped and took his aching cock in hand. Spike turned, slightly, eyes squeezed shut from water and soap. “Is that…”

Angel pushed him forward. “Don’t turn around.” He reached past Spike to turn the water off.

Spike’s hands slapped the wall, bracing himself. He shook his head. “Always giving orders.”

Angel pressed against slippery wet flesh, feeling his clothes getting wet but not caring. “I prefer seeing you from this side.”

“Perv. I’m not even… Fuck! Angel, there’s lube in my gym bag not five feet away.”

Angel paid no attention to Spike’s objections or his struggle to turn around. Angel’s lust was red-lining. His fingers worked feverishly, just enough to line his cock up where it needed to go. He thrust home on a thin film of soap.

Spike muffled his own cry against his arm. Angel sighed with pleasure, feeling his need quenched by tight flesh. His hands kept slipping off Spike’s slender hips so he grabbed a handful of wet hair and set his punishing pace. Their hips squelched and slapped together, loud in the tile-lined space. Spike’s palm squeaked against the tile, struggling for purchase as Angel drove him harder and harder into the wall. Spike hadn’t been hard when Angel entered him, and that had no doubt been painful. Angel loved the power to just do that, whenever he wanted. He also loved that Spike was starting to pant and push back, his cock growing, untouched, in front of him.

“You like that, don’t you? Slut.”

“Yeah, I love being molested by violent bastards,” Spike said, but he leaned back, straining to kiss Angel with his shower-wet lips.

Spike had come a long way from the freshman he’d had to fight every step of the way. Angel nipped his lower lip and then slammed him hard into the wall. Lindsey was going to be delicious. Angel could already see the shame and insecurity pouring off the boy. Angel wanted to break him gently, perfectly, and taste his despairing tears.

Angel rocked his hips upward, groaning deeply as the image tipped him over the edge and he filled Spike’s ass with spunk. He held on tight until the last waves of his orgasm had faded, then he dumped Spike on the tiled floor and set to righting his clothing.

“Thanks, Spikey. That cleared the head.”

Spike rolled into a seated position against the wall, his cock was in his hand. Spunk and blood smeared on the floor between his splayed legs. “Dick,” he said. He jacked himself furiously. “You need me to be able to run, genius.”

Angel picked up Spike’s towel from its hook by the door to the shower room. He ran it over the front of his shirt and trousers. He marveled at Spike. Though his erection was already flagging, the boy was still trying to get himself off. His hair was tousled into sharp spikes and a glob of soap was drying on his temple, looking like an errant shot of cum. Angel couldn’t help a moment of artist’s pleasure. _I did that_ he thought. He threw the wet towel into Spike’s chest. It tumbled down onto his deflating dick.

Angel smiled. “You can be replaced,” he said, and left the showers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you watch the superbowl? Did you care? Either way, have more of my wrong wrong football fic!

Lindsey ran over a rope ladder, tapping his toes twice in each square. Sweat ran down his nose. He reached the end of the ladder and sprinted to an orange cone where Coach Angel waited to take the ball from him and throw it to the next player doing the drill.

Angel said, “Spike! Get it together! Your time’s down five seconds!”

Spike jogged to a stop next to Lindsey and leaned over, his hands on his knees. “Fucking prick,” he said.

Lindsey still thought Spike was a jerk, but he looked like he was really in pain. “You okay?”

“Marvelous,” Spike said, and stretched. “Long night, is all. These two-a-days are horrible. Should know better, eh?” He smiled.

Lindsey’s eyes were still on the long lean section of stomach Spike’s stretch had exposed. He blushed and closed his eyes.

“Again,” Angel said, and blew his whistle. They ran through the drill four more times before he let them take a break. “Okay, we’re going team. Not you, Spike – you’re running laps.”

Spike groaned. “Are you kidding?”

Angel’s grin was cruel. “Nope. Your time is way down and someone reminded me recently that we need you to be able to run. So get running. You can join the team when you’ve done ten laps.”

Spike shot Angel a hateful look, and flipped him off, but he jogged off to the track. Lindsey watched him, feeling vaguely sorry for the guy. Something was hurting him, it was clear. His running was shaky. Still, he was a dick. Who flipped off their coach? And got away with it?

Angel put his arm around Lindsey’s shoulders. “Ready to be my running back?”

Lindsey’s heart swelled with pride. “I am.”

“Then go get ‘em.” Angel swatted Lindsey’s ass. “Tell Riley we’re running play fourteen.”

Lindsey joined the huddle. Riley, the impossibly tall, affable quarterback, looked expectantly toward him. “Play fourteen,” Lindsey said.

For a while, Lindsey was lost in the heady excitement of playing, so proud to be a real part of the team. When he glanced at the track a few minutes later, Spike’s angry glare was aimed squarely at him.

***

Lindsey approached the bench slowly, chewing on his bottom lip and what to say. Spike looked up from untying his shoes and his hard gaze pierced Lindsey to the core.

Lindsey looked away. “Look, man, I just wanted you to know – I know you’re the starter.”

“You want to be friends, short stuff?” Spike looked up through his lashes, smiling slyly.

Lindsey scowled. “I’m like an inch shorter than you.”

“Wasn’t talking about dick size.”

“Fine. You want to be an asshole, enjoy it.” Lindsey started to walk away.

Another player strutted past Lindsey, his eyes on Spike. “Having a little trouble walking straight today, coach’s pet?”

“Sod off, Hamilton,” Spike said.

“Come on, Spikey, let’s see you dance now.” Hamilton poked him, jeering.

Lindsey had no reason to get involved. He gritted his teeth. Hamilton continued poking at Spike and harassing him. “Come on, little fairy.” Spike pretended to be completely absorbed in tying his shoes.

“Leave him alone,” Lindsey said.

Hamilton blinked and addressed the clouds. “Am I hallucinating? Did a ROOKIE just talk to me?”

“We’re all on the same team,” Lindsey said. “No reason to be an asshole.”

Hamilton bent close to Spike. “Does coach know you have a rookie girlfriend?”

Hamilton must have gotten a lot closer than Spike liked, because he shoved the larger man back hard, and almost knocked him into Lindsey.

A piercing whistle interrupted any further argument. Coach Trick jogged over. “If you boys have enough energy to fight, you have enough energy to give me one hundred push-ups. Get going.” Lindsey realized why Spike had been so careful not to rise to Hamilton’s bait. He groaned and dropped to the ground beside the other boys. It was a quiet and unfriendly hundred push-ups.

***

Spike felt bad that the rookie had been implicated. Stupid kid had even been trying to play peacemaker. Plus the guy had this downright vulnerable look that made Spike want to protect him.

So Spike waited around outside the locker room until Lindsey appeared, carrying his beat-up old army surplus duffle. Lindsey barely acknowledged him and started off across the field.

“Sorry you had to do those push-ups with us,” Spike said, falling into step beside him. “Wasn’t anything to do with you.”

Lindsey slowed and peered at Spike. “What’s Hamilton’s problem, anyway?”

Spike stroked a hand down his front. “He’s hot for my bod.”

Lindsey stumbled a step and started walking faster. A fetching blush rose on his cheeks. Spike stopped walking altogether and had to jog a few paces to catch up again. “You know, that’s a pretty old joke around here – a bloke gives you grief, you call him gay. But the guys are really tolerant – most of them. Hamilton, not so much, but Riley’s vice president of the LGBT group.”

Lindsey scowled. “What are you telling me that for?”

Spike bit his lip. Closeted blokes were adorable. “Just making conversation.”

“You think you’re so good at running with a football you can get away with anything.”

Spike paused as though considering this. “Yep, pretty much.”

They’d reached the bus stop. Lindsey set his bag down. He turned to Spike with anger flashing in his clear eyes. “Well I hope you feel my footsteps gaining behind you.”

Spike scowled. “Fine. Be a dick.” He turned and stomped back toward the dorms.

***

Lindsey groaned and lay his head back against the cold aluminum bench. Why had he said that? He knew Spike was trying to reach out and be friendly. Now he’d never have a chance to…

Be friends. Lindsey pushed down any other considerations that he wasn’t even thinking about. God, he was sore. His muscles were getting cold and cramping from waiting. Where was that bus?

A sleek black convertible pulled up to the bus stop. Coach Angel sat behind the wheel. “Hey, champ,” he said. “Need a lift?”

The coach must have showered after practice, too, because he looked clean and fresh, his hair standing up in neat spikes over his forehead. Lindsey shifted, feeling less than perfectly clean in the clothes he’d worn before practice. “Uh, no thanks, sir. It’s a long way to my place.”

“I know where you live,” Angel said, patting the seat next to him. “Come on. That bus doesn’t always run on Tuesdays. You could be here all night.”

Lindsey stood. “Crap. Really? They didn’t say…”

“Come on. I’m heading that way anyway and this will give us a chance to talk about your first full practice.”

Uncertainly, Lindsey walked around to the passenger side door. “I can pay you for gas,” he said.

“Oh, Lindsey.” Angel shook his head. When Lindsey settled into the seat, Angel put his hand on his knee. “I would never dream of taking your money,” he said.

He left his hand on Lindsey’s knee as he pulled away from the curb, and as he steered onto the main road. Lindsey looked down at the hand. It wasn’t gripping him or anything, but there was something unsettlingly proprietary about it laying there, warm and heavy on his knee. He should say something, but he was embarrassed by the whole situation. It was probably just an accident, the coach wasn’t thinking where his hand was.

Angel’s eyes were on the road and his tone conversational. “I hope the other boys are treating you well. I know how boys can be.”

“Everyone’s been fine,” Lindsey said.

“Even Spike? He can be a bit of a prima donna.”

“I don’t gotta like him, I just have to play with him.”

Angel nodded approvingly. His hand moved an inch up on Lindsey’s thigh. “That’s a good attitude.”

“Uh, sir? That was the exit for my town.”

“Don’t worry, Linds. I’ll get you home. I just wanted to show you something first.”

Lindsey really started worrying about that hand on his thigh now. Had it moved closer to his crotch? As he watched, Angel’s hand did move a fractional inch upward. He pushed it away. “Don’t call me ‘Linds’.”

Angel looked at him, a long time with his eyes off the road. He didn’t look happy. Lindsey squirmed nervously, eyes darting between Angel and the traffic ahead.

Angel sighed heavily and steered the car into the next exit lane. He was stonily silent as they drove over the highway and up into the hills. Lindsey shifted uncomfortably in his seat, silently cursing himself for being stupid and over-reacting to a simple friendly gesture.

Angel stopped the car on the top of a bluff. They could see all of Sunnydale and the ocean beyond. He turned to face Lindsey, one hand up on the seat behind him, the other resting on the dashboard. “The truth is, Lindsey, you’re not as gifted as I’d hoped. You’re just not that good.”

Lindsey sank back. He’d been fearing, expecting… he wasn’t sure what. He felt caged by Angel leaning toward him like that, but the car door was right behind him. “What?”

“You were tackled five times for a loss in practice today. You’re not as fast as the other boys on the team.”

“But I’m two years younger!”

Angel half-shrugged. “Not than all of them. Spike was in the early-entrance program last year. He out-performed you then. I’m sorry, Linds, but I don’t see this working out.”

“But… is that what this is? You offered to drive me home so you can kick me off the team? I thought… you said… but I’ll train harder! I will. I’ll practice harder.”

Angel relaxed back into his seat, his expression was amused, patronizing. “I think we’re done here. Let’s get you home.”

Lindsey grabbed Angel’s wrist as he moved his hand toward the ignition. “Wait. Sir. Please, what do I have to do to prove to you I can make it on this team?”

Angel looked down at Lindsey’s hand until he removed it. He settled back into his seat and considered the view. “Well, Linds, I can’t exactly ask you for anything. It would be wrong. An abuse of my position.”

Lindsey didn’t know what to say, what he could say. He felt numb and helpless and like he might cry and it was taking all his willpower to hold it back. “But I really thought… this was my chance.”

“Sh,” Angel said. He brushed Lindsey’s hair back from his cheek. “It was a good chance.”

“But…” Lindsey shook his head. He looked down at the valley below, wondering how he’d break the news to his parents.

***

Angel had to shift in his seat. His hard-on was damn uncomfortable. Did he have to spell everything out for this kid? He went for the thigh-grab again. “I like you, Lindsey,” Angel said. He tried to make it sound sincere. “You’re a good kid. I want to give you a break. I really do.”

Angel pressed his hand more firmly and slid it up Lindsey’s thigh. “Like I said, it would be wrong for me to ask you to DO anything to convince me to let you stay. But if you were to offer…” Angel let his voice trail off suggestively. He hated spelling it out. It was so much more delicious when they thought it was THEIR idea. But Lindsey just sat there, staring at him with big, sad, miserable eyes. Angel had to repress the urge to just haul him out of his jeans and take him. Time to be less subtle. He let his lips just barely graze Lindsey’s cheek as he asked, “Do you like boys, Lindsey?”

Lindsey’s eyes popped wide open and his skin blanched with fear. Jackpot. Angel could almost smell the shame and fear rolling off him. Angel backed off a bit and frowned. “You look like the sort. Something about the way you walk.”

“I don’t! I’m not. I mean…” Lindsey blushed a fetching dark red and twisted in his seat, turning his face to the door.

Angel closed the distance, pressing his aching cock against the gear shift. “I have to be careful, you understand. I wouldn’t want other boys leaving the team because they were afraid someone was ogling them in the shower room.”

“I’m not! I won’t. I mean… I haven’t. I wouldn’t.”

Angel cupped Lindsey’s cheek and forced him to face him. “You’re going to have to prove that to me.”

“How?”

Angel managed, just barely, not to smile. “Kiss me.” He shushed Lindsey’s objection before he could make it. “I’ll be able to feel if you’re really into it – I’ll know what’s inside of you. You reveal a lot of yourself when you kiss someone.”

Lindsey frowned. “You want me to kiss you to prove I’m not gay.”

The boy sounded dangerously aware of the situation. Angel put on an assuring smile. “I deal with these issues all the time. You’d be surprised what works.” As Lindsey continued to hesitate, he added, “Unless, of course, you don’t want to know.” Angel settled back in his own seat, giving Lindsey lots of room. “Speaking as a professional in education, I can tell you how dangerous a lack of self-knowledge can be. It leads to repression, acting out. I’m just concerned for the integrity of the team. I don’t know if I’d want a young man around who is too scared to know himself.”

Angel heard the hard little intake of breath that signaled a decision being made. He bit the inside of his lip to keep from smiling as he heard the first creak of Lindsey’s seat. The boy’s hand was hot and sweaty against his arm. His pupils moved rapidly, searching for something in Angel’s face. “This… this is a test, isn’t it?”

“Didn’t I say that, boy?”

Lindsey’s plump lower lip caught between his teeth. Angel could feel a delicious tremor in him. “This is so stupid. I’m totally not gay.” Lindsey hesitated a second longer, than quickly mashed his slack lips against Angel’s. He dropped back into his seat like a sack of potatoes. “Are we done?”

“Lindsey. Come on, you have to take this seriously. I can’t tell anything from that… that whatever it was. Man up and kiss me for real.”

Lindsey squirmed. “This really makes me feel uncomfortable, coach.”

“Good. It’s supposed to.” Angel smiled. He couldn’t help it.

Then, to his delight, Lindsey gave him a hard, challenging look, like he was about to throw a punch. And then the boy was back in his lap, lips hot and wet and firm against his own. Angel quickly took over the kiss, forcing his tongue between resisting lips and grabbing handfuls of sweet young ass.

For a second, the barest second, he felt surrender in Lindsey’s lips.

Then Lindsey started fighting like a wet cat. He twisted and pushed and shoved. A hard punch briefly numbed Angel’s arm as it contacted with nerves. In the moment of shock, Lindsey bolted, scampering right over the closed passenger door and out into the night.

Angel sat back, listening to the broken sticks and falling stones as Lindsey fled down the steep embankment. “I have your gym bag, dumbass.” With a sigh he opened his cell phone. It looked like another night of dining in. “Spike? Get your skinny ass naked and in my office before I get there or you’ll be riding the pine all week.”

Angel dropped his phone on the passenger seat before Spike could answer and chuckled to himself because ‘ride the pine’ sounded pretty dirty. He made a mental note to stop by the gym and pick up a baseball bat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is - the wrongest chapter yet! My goal in this chapter was to have some tenderness and coming together between Spike and Lindsey, but somehow I missed that and this is Langel wrongness instead. Angel finally sets his plan fully in motion. Oooo he's soooo bad.

For the next day, Lindsey jumped every time the phone rang or the front door opened. He paced his room, wondering what to tell his parents. His dad had already put up a homemade “My Son Plays for U.C. Sunnydale” sign in the front yard.

When it was time for practice, he went as usual to the bus stop. He told his folks he’d left his equipment bag at the gym for convenience’s sake.

An hour later, knowing his folks were out, he snuck back into his house and his room. Laying on his desk, next to his school books, was a typed sheet labeled “Team Phone Tree”. They were supposed to call each other if there was a problem or practice was cancelled for some reason.

Lindsey looked at the list. There weren’t a lot of names he knew, much less the people behind them. Gunn. Riley. Spike.

He tried Gunn first. The phone rang for a bit then went to voicemail. Of course, Gunn was at practice. This was stupid. Still, he tried Riley, and then Spike.

Spike picked up on the second ring. “’lo?” He sounded like he’d just woken up.

“Are you at practice?”

There was a pause and a rustle. “Why aren’t you?”

“Look, I’m in trouble. I need help. Do you have a car?”

***

Spike drove a beat up old black DeSoto – the sort of car that would be an expensive collector’s item if someone had taken care of it. Lindsey was impressed, but tried not to look it. Probably the guy had rich folks. He opened the passenger door and jumped in. “Thanks. Listen, I sort of left my gym b-“ his voice cut out as he caught his first glance of Spike. “What the hell happened to you?”

Spike attempted a grin with his split, swollen lips. “You’re welcome, asswipe.” He put the car into gear and backed down Lindsey’s drive.

Spike’s left eye was blackened and shut, purple bruises mottling the top of his face. Lindsey looked down only to see more bruises on his arms. “Shit, Spike. You could have said something.”

“I got in a fight. You should see the other bloke.” Spike had to tilt his head to see out his good eye as he merged onto the highway. “So are you going to tell me why you need to sneak into the gym?”

“I left something there.”

“And you’re skipping practice because?”

Lindsey bit his lip. Spike’s wrist had an ugly red mark on it, like a rope burn. “I got in trouble with coach.”

“Mate, skipping practice is the primary way to get in trouble with coach.”

“How long are you going to be out?”

“Pft. This is mostly superficial. Don’t get your hopes up, rookie.”

“But… you got in a fight. That’s a code of conduct violation.”

“Kid, I’m good. And I get in a dust-up like this about once a semester. Coach will cover for me. I’ll get a reprimand and a few weeks on IR, tops.”

Lindsey was concerned about how much Spike was leaning, and blinking. The car wasn’t going all that straight any more. “Maybe I should drive.”

“Told you – I’m fine.” Spike wove his way drunkenly into the student parking at U.C. Sunnydale. He pulled through a space, bumping over the curb to come to rest at last against a “Welcome to UC Sunnydale” sign.

Spike slumped over the steering wheel and Lindsey could hardly breathe until he raised himself up and said, “See? Fine.”

Spike opened the driver’s side door and fell out of the car.

“Shit,” Lindsey said. He undid his seat belt, noting that Spike hadn’t been wearing his, and got out. He got a shoulder under Spike’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “You’re going to have to tell me where we’re going.”

“You know where you left shit in the gym, wanker.”

“Forget that. We’re getting you back to your bed.”

Spike peered at Lindsey, his blue eye as wide as it could go against swollen, darkened skin. If Lindsey didn’t know better, he’d think he was shocked someone was giving a damn. “Come on, tell me where we’re going, lard ass, before I drop you.”

Spike kind of sank against him. “Left. That building, behind the other one.”

***

Spike came around, at first muzzily calm that he was waking up as usual in his dorm room, but then he remembered Lindsey and sat up, panicked over how much time had passed, what the kid might have seen if he’d gone through his stuff – things like the notebook full of awful love poetry, half of it addressed to his sodding coach.

“Easy,” Lindsey said. He pressed a cool, wet rag to Spike’s forehead. “You went out like a light. You could have a concussion.”

“Just what I need,” Spike griped. He pushed himself further up. “I’m fine. It’s lack of food. Or water. Probably should have had one or the other today.”

Lindsey took the rag and handed him a sports bottle. “Figures. You should take better care of yourself, for the team’s sake. Why do you get in these fights?”

The water tasted fabulous. Spike groaned with pleasure and smiled around the straw as he saw Lindsey shift away from him, looking uncomfortable. “Suppose I’m just too stubborn,” Spike said. “And I love to get a good wisecrack in, just when it’ll do me the least good.” He scooted closer and put a hand on Lindsey’s arm. “Thanks, mate.”

Lindsey jumped back like he’d been scalded. “Dude, don’t go acting gay over it.”

Spike laughed, a hard, short laugh. “Relax, rookie. I’m taken.”

Lindsey stood. “Anyway, I’ll see you. I’ve got to go get my gym bag, remember?”

“Right,” Spike said. He frowned in confusion as Lindsey beat a hasty retreat.

***

Coach Angel’s convertible was in the garage, but there was nothing in the back seat. Lindsey paced along the side of the building until he saw the light in Angel’s office go off. Heart beating heavily in his throat, Lindsey ran up a back stairwell, hoping that he was right that Angel would take the stairs between the garage and his office instead of these.

The hallway was empty, as was the receptionist’s area. Lindsey slipped into the darkened office and his eyes fell on his bag laying by the window in a beam of street-light. He crept toward it.

The office lights flooded on. Angel stood by the door, one hand on the light switch. “Missing something, Lindsey?”

Lindsey almost fell over his bag. He held his hands out. “Coach… please, I only came to get my stuff. I swear.”

Angel advanced slowly toward him, looking at his nails. “I’m tired of dicking around on this, Linds, so let’s cut to the chase.” Suddenly, Angel was crowding him against the window. “If you want back in this program? If you want to stay in this program? You’re going to have to be real, real nice to me.”

Lindsey felt all the breath leave his body. He tried to work up some to respond. “I…”

“First you run out on me, then you skip practice. This punishment goes way beyond doing laps, boy. Strip.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Angel took a single step back. “You’re on thin ice, Lindsey. You’d better do what I tell you or I will not only kick you out of the program, I’ll have you arrested for breaking and entering.”

Angel’s face was hard and angry. Lindsey didn’t doubt for a second he’d carry through on his threats. Fumbling, he started unbuttoning his shirt. The room was cold enough to make him feel each layer of warmth as it was discarded. Angel stayed close enough that Lindsey had to be careful not to smack him with his elbow, but the coach was still and silent as Lindsey stripped.

Until he was down to his underwear, then Angel said, “All the way.”

Lindsey felt his face grow hot as he pushed the worn boxers down and stepped sideways out of them. “Now what?” he asked. He clenched his fists to keep from huddling. He tried to stand straight and look Angel right in the eye. He almost succeeded.

Angel took another step back. “Drop and give me twenty.”

Lindsey felt a wave of relief. He sank to the ground. Angel didn’t back up to give him room so he had to line himself up between Angel and the wall. It was weird, doing push-ups naked – his dick brushed the berber carpet at the bottom of each press.

He’d done ten and was just feeling warm when Angel put his foot on the small of his back. He struggled to keep going as Angel put more and more pressure on him, digging the hard rubber sole of his shoe into Lindsey’s back until Lindsey, at last, could only lie there. “What the hell?”

“That wasn’t twenty,” Angel said.

Lindsey tried to get his hands under him, feeling the burn of friction against the carpet. He was sweating now. “Is this some kind of test?”

Angel’s knee dropped between his shoulder blades, crushing him to the carpet, and Angel’s breath was wet against his ear. “Yes, Lindsey, and you just failed. Get up.”

Lindsey tried, but Angel’s weight was too much. He grunted and moved his hands directly under his shoulders, trying for leverage. He only succeeded in getting his upper body an inch off the floor.

He felt Angel settle against his back. He felt the larger man’s erection, hard and solid against the curve of his ass. Then Angel moved, and there was a sound of a zipper. Hot flesh touched his. “This could have gone so much easier, Lindsey,” Angel said. “I would have been gentle.”

Lindsey stopped trying to push up. He scrambled sideways, heedless of the scrape of carpet on his chest and thighs. Somehow he ended up free and in the middle of the room, looking down at a very angry Angel. Lindsey backed up as Angel stood and advanced on him.

Angel stopped and asked in a calm, reasonable voice, “Do you want in this program or not?”

“I do, but…”

“No buts, Linds. Now come here.”

He could leave. He knew he could leave. Angel wasn’t holding him, the door was unlocked.

Filled with dread, he took a step closer to Angel.

Angel turned and walked to his desk. Sitting down in his big, leather executive chair, he motioned for Lindsey to come to him. “If you want to keep your scholarship, to say nothing of your place on the team, you’re going to have to show me some cooperation.”

“Yes, sir,” Lindsey said. The room was so cold. He walked stiffly over to Angel’s desk, glancing back at his pile of clothing on the floor.

Angel laced his fingers behind Lindsey’s neck when he got close enough. “I think,” he said, “We’re a bit past the kiss test.” Angel pushed Lindsey’s head down toward his lap. Angel’s cock was poking out of his open slacks. It was red and angry-looking, a drop of pre-come sliding down the broad head. Lindsey had never been this close to another man’s dick, and the aggressive reality of it blanked all thought from his mind. What was happening? What did Angel want? Was he going to do this?

A dim, sensible voice in his head told him “It’s exactly what it looks like, dumbass.”

He wished Angel would say something, tell him exactly what to do, exactly what was at stake – but Angel just watched, lips tight and flat. The pressure on Lindsey’s neck was steady, holding him there but not forcing him lower. Lindsey’s stomach dropped as it all was suddenly clear: Angel wanted him to make the first move. That was what all of it had been about – the ‘kiss test’ and everything.

Tentatively, Lindsey licked the spongy head. It felt strange, softer than he would have expected, and there was a tang of salt. The heavy hands lifted away from his neck. “That’s it,” Angel said.

Lindsey felt embarrassed, and snotty – it was hard to breathe. He wanted to sink away from his own skin. He licked again, tasting musk. How clean was Coach Angel’s dick? Lindsey’s mouth felt dry and he started shaking.

Angel grabbed a handful of hair at the back of his head. “Open up,” he said, and guided his cock past unresisting lips. Lindsey tried to back away, but it was too late, and a painful tug on his hair kept him still as Angel pushed into his mouth and thrust against the back of his throat, making him gag.

“Suck, sweetheart – it’s not rocket science.”

Lindsey closed his lips around the thick shaft. Flesh hardened further under his lips, becoming like rock wrapped in silk. Lindsey shivered and quickly buried the thought that he could see why someone might want to do this. Saliva was now building thickly in his mouth and he had to suck it back or drool all over the place. Obscene slurping noises filled the silence. Angel continued thrusting against the back of this throat like he expected there to be further to go. Then Angel grabbed his head with both hands and thrust hard, punching through the back of Lindsey’s throat. He felt his gorge rise, felt bile burning with no place to go – his throat was plugged. His nerves turned to ice as he panicked, fearing suffocation. He tried to shout, to say something, but all that came out was drool and a groan.

“That’s it,” Angel said, and started thrusting rhythmically, fucking Lindsey’s throat.

Angel’s thighs were strong, like stone on either side of him. He hit them to no avail. He felt himself give up. Tears coursed down his cheeks and his breath came in snot-choked gasps, but his hands fell to rest on Angel’s knees and he let himself be used.

Angel pulled out and hot spunk splurted all over Lindsey’s face, dripping into his mouth with a bitter taste more intense than he had imagined. He fell back, wiping snot, drool and cum and sobbing.

Angel said nothing while Lindsey washed his face in the men’s room down the hall. He stood behind him, holding Lindsey’s equipment bag over one shoulder. He tossed the bag to Lindsey and led him down the garage, then he drove him home.

The only thing Angel said, as Lindsey stepped out of the car in front of his house, was, “I knew you were a fag.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an update, darling friends. (You thought I'd abandoned you? Never! Well, okay, for a little while.)
> 
> But...this is pretty much the last of this.

After all of that – and after a miserable night crying and re-living every moment over and over – Lindsey couldn’t skip practice. Not after what it had cost him. Still, he felt the pain of his clenched shoulders the entire way to the field and silently prayed the bus would break down or terrorists would blow it up or something.

He was surprised to see Spike was there. The bruises on his face had darkened and looked even worse, but he was running back and forth, catching short passes from Riley.

Lindsey was tying his cleats when a shadow fell over him. He flinched. Spike stood in front of him, spinning a football between his hands. “Hey, easy, mate. You all right?”

“I should ask you that. You were barely conscious last night.”

“Told you – I hadn’t eaten.” He smirked. “Not food, anyway.”

Lindsey felt all the blood drain from his head. He jumped up and hit Spike in the chest. “Quit joking about that shit.”

Spike squinted at him, and then tugged him by the elbow away from the bench. Lindsey jerked out of his grasp, but to his surprise, Spike was calm and spoke softly. “What’s eating you, mate? What can I do?”

It sounded suspiciously like the guy with a black-and-blue face was offering to beat someone up for Lindsey. He felt a wave of shame at his behavior. “Dude, no. I... never mind.”

“Whatever it is, you have a team behind you now, yeah?” Spike squeezed his shoulder. His eyes were even more blue against his darkened skin.

Lindsey swallowed dryly. “Thanks,” he said. He cleared his throat when Spike seemed to be waiting for something more. “You’re all right.”

Spike snorted. “I’m bloody brilliant. Keep up, rookie.” And he jogged back to the field.

Lindsey turned and saw Coach Angel approaching the sideline. His blood froze. He’d been dreading this moment.

And then Angel looked right past him like he wasn’t there. “All right! Get into lines for sprints. Let’s go.”

Throughout practice, Angel never gave Lindsey more or less attention than he did any other player. He was so professional that Lindsey almost doubted his memory that so much had happened between them since the last practice.

Lindsey felt like he was going mad. He tripped over his own feet when he was sent to run through a drill and Angel blew his whistle and shouted, “Control. Quick feet. Go again.” His stern but calm face belied nothing. Lindsey felt like he was going mad.

At last practice was over. Lindsey felt better than he had in a long time, bathed in honest sweat. For a short time, the exertion had taken over and he’d forgotten about anything other than playing.

Then he saw Angel standing in the entry to the locker room. Lindsey stopped in his tracks. Gunn bumped into him. “Hey man, come on!”

“Good work,” Angel said, and slapped Gunn on the ass as he passed.

Angel looked at Lindsey. He had to walk past him. Other players were walking by, filing past into the locker room. Angel didn’t smile, just stood there, waiting.

With a bloodless feeling, Lindsey walked forward, eyes on the ground.

Angel’s breath brushed his neck. “Get your head in the game.” His large hand swatted Lindsey’s ass firmly, awakening pain. Lindsey yelped and he could feel – christ he could feel Angel’s smile, the movement of his cheek so close.

Lindsey hurried into the locker room. He breathed in slow gasps, trying to hold the tears in. What would he say if the guys saw him crying? What could he say? He all but ran to the showers and the camouflage of water.

Spike was already under one of the shower room nozzles, squinting up into the spray as soap sluiced down his form. Lindsey was too anxious even to appreciate the view, but he still looked, of course. His eyes tracked a little raft of bubbles that bumped down ribs and muscle to the smooth stretch just above Spike’s hip and then over...

Lindsey’s eyes and brain froze as he saw fat, finger-shaped bruises fanning out around Spike’s hip.

“Oi.”

Lindsey, caught out, hurriedly snatched his gaze upward. Spike winked. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” And then Spike’s eyes dropped slowly and obviously down Lindsey’s body and back up.

Blushing hotly, Lindsey turned back to the water spray and hurriedly rinsed himself off. He left the shower room ignoring Spike’s laugh.

And there was Coach Angel, leaning against the row of lockers, smirking.

Lindsey wrapped his towel tight around his waist and walked along the other side of the room. But of course, Angel knew which locker was his. His thick arm stuck out across the front of the locker. “Hey, Linds. I get the feeling you were feeling sore today. Want to talk about it?”

He was naked – his clothes were in the locker. There was no place to run. He wished he could shrink through the floor. “Just let me get dressed,” he said, as neutrally as he could.

“Hey, hey – are you okay?” Angel leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Are there problems at home?” Angel’s hand brushed Lindsey’s shoulder.

Lindsey took a step back and raised his chin. “I’m fine. Get out of the way so I can get dressed, or are you going to molest me right here in the locker room?”

There was a flicker of surprise in Angel’s eyes. Lindsey took pride in that. But then Angel crowded him up against the hard metal lockers and ran his lips gently over the side of Lindsey’s face. “If you think you’ve got it hard now, keep pushing me, and I’ll show you how hard I can make life for you.”

Angel stepped back and blew him a kiss.

“Oi!” Spike stood at the end of the row of lockers, dripping wet. He was looking in shock at Angel.

“See you boys next practice,” Angel said, cool and professional again.

Spike ran after him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you think YOU’RE doing,” Angel answered, still calm.

Spike leaned close, whispering to Angel, but Angel pushed him away and walked out of the locker room, leaving him standing there in his towel.

Spike turned to look at Lindsey.

Lindsey tried to get his underwear on without dropping his towel. Spike stood over him. “Hey, look at me.”

“I’m getting dressed,” Lindsey said.

“Yeah, I can see that. What was that with Coach just now?”

Lindsey felt his molars grinding. “He was concerned about my performance today.”

Spike grabbed Lindsey’s shoulder. Lindsey hit his hand off. Spike leaned close and Lindsey threw a punch. Spike caught his wrist before it contacted. He was studying Lindsey intently. “Did he touch you?”

Lindsey twisted his arm out of Spike’s grasp. He drew back his fist again, but when Spike didn’t even flinch, Lindsey just sighed and picked up his towel from where it had fallen at his feet. “I’m fine,” he said.

“Bollocks.”

Spike rested his back against Lindsey’s locker, taking the same place Angel had been in. “Look, I know some things about our coach, all right? I know he has... habits.”

Lindsey tried to ignore Spike and continue dressing. What would happen if he confided in Spike? He hardly knew him. Spike could turn him in, tell Angel, or just mock him for being a used, filthy thing.

Lindsey pulled on his shirt and thought about taking another shower when he got home.

“So nothing happened between Coach and you? Nothing at all?”

“Fuck off, Spike.”

Spike nodded, slowly, and peeled himself up off the lockers. Lindsey relaxed, thinking at least that was over, but then Spike turned around and smacked Lindsey’s ass. His fingers dug in, lifting and squeezing, and Lindsey cried out, loud and high and squealing as his sore tissues compressed, sending a knife’s edge of pain through him.

All around the locker room, faces turned, eyes wide. Lindsey collapsed onto the bench in front of his locker and covered his face as hot tears started to spill.

“Mind your own business,” he heard Spike snarl. Spike’s hand was on his shoulder, his body leaning over his. “Hey, hey... easy, mate. Come on, get your kit on. I’ll grab my stuff and meet you by the door.”

It took a few gasps to get his voice under control enough to ask, “Why?”

“You’re coming back to mine. You’re in no shape for public transportation.”

Lindsey couldn’t look to see what Spike did next. It was taking all he had not to sob and wail right there in the locker room. But he felt Spike leave, and after a while come back. His leather coat brushed Lindsey as Spike helped him to his feet and walked him out the door.


End file.
